


A Gift of Pearls

by clarasimone, HouseofTheBear



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Cunnilingus, Erotica, F/M, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Love, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex, Passionate Sex, Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Romance, Some Humor, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-12-16 04:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21030515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/pseuds/clarasimone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseofTheBear/pseuds/HouseofTheBear
Summary: When Jorah and Daenerys are invited to Wayne Manor for the weekend, Jorah feels his dominion over Daenerys' heart challenged by the shadowy presence of his cousin Bruce Wayne and the attentions of young Dick Grayson. Yet how could Daenerys' soul and flesh belong to someone else but Jorah, her one and only...especially when a gift of pearls is bestowed twice upon her?





	A Gift of Pearls

**Author's Note:**

> This 4-hand tale was, once more, conceived as a relay race between the two authors. This time Clarasimone wrote the first three parts with HouseOfTheBear inserting herself in the last, for a glorious finish. This one-off offering is set in the contemporary setting of HouseOfTheBear's serial "Blurring the Lines"... but it intersects with our own AU version of Titans, the TV series, with a passing nod to Downton Abbey. All series graced with the presence of Iain Glen, of course.
> 
> Our most mirific thanks to @chryssadirewolf for the beautiful artwork!
> 
> And for the musically inclined, click on the link below to hear the Erik Satie soundtrack accompanying Jorah and Daenerys' erotic tryst in the opening scenes. Those who follow season 2 of Titans will recognize Gymnopédie no 1, as it played in the background of episode 2's phone call scene between Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson.

**A GIFT OF PEARLS**

Soaking wet, Jorah is looking about, perplexed, in the stately bedroom he occupies with Daenerys. The melancholic beauty of Erik Satie’s _Gymnopédies_ is drifting through the scented air of their suite; his love’s lingerie is laying about; but she’s nowhere to be seen. Where could she be?...

***

Daenerys and Jorah are spending the weekend at Wayne Manor; Bruce Wayne being a distant relative of Jorah’s, on his mother’s side. The two men have rarely met and don’t know each other well, yet Wayne has invited his cousin, and his _fiancée_, to this special gathering of wealthy benefactors; a token of gratitude for contributing to Wayne Industries’ many philanthropic charities.

Upon receiving the invitation, Jorah wondered if the other guests had, like him, helped with these “charities” in a somewhat oblique and secretive manner. But right this moment, the answer to that question is not what he’s pursuing. The rain outside cut short the stroll he was enjoying through the ample park, looking for late autumn roses to gift Daenerys, and he’s had to run back to the manor. Chased by the storm, he stumbled, per chance, on Alfred, Bruce’s butler, who very graciously lead him to the back way of the private wing he and Daenerys have been invited to occupy.

A whole wing to themselves. Jorah found his cousin’s offer of accommodations rather extravagant, but Daenerys had just smiled and whispered:

“Well, maybe he knows we’re to be wed soon and wants to give you all the privacy needed to further woo me? Would that be like him?”

“Hum, a romantic?”

“Or someone who wishes he could be?”

Jorah had raised an eyebrow at Daenerys’ intuitive suggestion. She never ceased to amaze him. And he longed to get back to her right now.

***

Jorah is dripping wet as he tentatively enters their ample suite. Putting the sheltered cloak room to good use, he sheds himself of most of his wet clothes, letting them sloppily drop to the stone floor, shivering slightly in the cool ambient air. He opens the door to the parlor and Daenerys’ name dies on his lips as the beauty of Satie’s music engulfs him, followed by the warmth of the roaring fireplace greeting him, the flames coloring his skin with amber light. If Daenerys had been able to see him like this, she would have smiled one of her secret smiles: Jorah doesn’t really know how handsome he is and, right now, his tall half-naked form, clad in damp, skintight long underwear gives him a strange faun-like mythical presence in the middle of the opulent Tudor decor. One of his hands is absentmindedly brushing droplets from his torso, and he looks like a God, or a superhero? come in unannounced to ravish an unsuspecting Beauty. Speaking of which, squinting slightly, Jorah notices a lacy lounging robe abandoned on the back of a _bergère_ armchair, and his nostrils flare. Its trail is snaking along the Persian rug and pointing in the direction of the bedroom: ah! the hunt has begun.

Smiling to himself, Jorah walks towards the garment and gently picks it up, smelling Daenerys’ perfume on the fabric. Just then, the music stops and Jorah turns to the old-fashioned record player from which the delicate piano music could be heard. The arm resets itself and the music starts anew, _Gymnopédie no 1_ reestablishing the mood and spurring him towards the bedroom. Here too, the fireplace warms him and illuminates the paneled walls, keeping the rain and grey skies outside at bay. The tartan decor and heavily carved canopy bed are masculine, yet he notices that someone has soften the room with multiple vases of wild roses. The roses he had meant to bring back to Daenerys himself. For a fleeting second, Jorah wonders if this is his cousin’s doing… and should he be bothered by this attention? Bruce, a rival? The thought doesn’t take hold in his mind though, not really, because something else captivates his attention. There, in the center of the bedroom, on the floor leading to yet another antechamber, Daenerys has left him more _friandises_ to follow: sheer lingerie and silk stockings. Truly, his love should have been a Mistress of mise-en-scenes, he would have stood guard to all her creations. His chest swells with masculine pride as he realizes, of course, that she has chosen him to be the sole benefactor of her erotic imaginings. And he wants nothing more than to follow her stage directions.

Jorah’s smile wavers though when he enters the candlelit bathroom: Daenerys is not here either, though odorant wisps of steam are still drifting from the bath water. Where has she gone? He delicately puts down her garments on the vanity and, brushing his wet hair back down the nape of his neck, he turns on himself trying to fathom if he missed a portal, a corridor, a… a hidden door. He sees it now, behind the standing mirror, light coming through a slit in the flowered wallpaper. Carefully he places his hand on the wall and just pushes his way through. The delicate piano music follows him as he very slowly makes his way inside a tortuous corridor leading to… the most beautiful sight ever: his love, posing in the center of a circular dressing room, naked but for a very elaborate pearl necklace wounded round her delicate neck and down her alabaster skin in layers and layers of strings.

Daenerys raises her eyes to Jorah through one of the many mirrors surrounding the room and she smiles, her fingers failing to master the clasp at her neck. She beckons to him like a Goddess of iridescence, the only sparkle of light in an otherwise velvety, darkened room, her figure multiplied through the wall to ceiling mirrors set inside ebony panels. Jorah takes a second to exhale, his breath vibrating out of his lungs under his contracted pectorals, desire striking him where he stands. Silently he walks towards Daenerys, his eyes not leaving hers through the reflection, the only sound that of the rain falling on the frosted window panes and that music longing for love the way he longs for _her_, the Queen of his heart.

“You found my gift,” Jorah whispers into Daenerys’s ear when he glides next to her, his fingers brushing those of his love aside to clasp the necklace in place. How striking they look in the mirrors. He, so tall, his athletic limbs framing the _petite_ bejeweled beauty he could ravish in an instant, if he dared. But Daenerys is unafraid and daring; she answers him through the mirror, her eyes sparkling.

“You hid the box in the _chiffonier_! I was bound too.”

Returning her smile, he brushes the swell of her naked breasts by gliding down the beads: “The pearls needed a silky bed, my darling, and I thought I’d be back in time for your bath…” Amused and already aroused, Daenerys looks in the mirror at Jorah’s fingers slipping from one pearl to the next until, with a little pout, she brushes aside the white nacreous jewels to invite Jorah over her budding nipples, the pink pearls fighting the whiter ones for Jorah’s favors. Jorah takes the bait and Daenerys smiles at him through their reflection: “I’m sorry I ruined your surprise.”

Jorah swallows then, and shakes his head, his eyes leaving the beauty of his love’s naked breasts for the violet of her glance: “No, luv, this is perfect. You take my breath away…” He turns her around then and crowns his whisper with a feathery kiss to her lips while one of his hands glides on the small of her back, with just the tip of his fingers. It makes her open her mouth to him and his kiss deepens there while his other hand teases the berry of her breast again, their bodies coming together yet barely touching, Jorah not wanting to shock Daenerys’ warm silky skin with the cold wetness of his own. She feels the contrast though and it sends a delicious _frisson_ all over, her own hands tracing their way down Jorah’s naked torso and little pebbles, erect under her touch, until he takes her delicate fingers and bring them to his lips: “You’ve not found all of the pearls, have you?” Daenerys cocks an eyebrow to Jorah, and she follows his eyes as they fall on the black velvet ottoman gracing the center of the room, where she left the jewelry case opened. She watches then as Jorah leaves her side long enough to retrieve, from the satin folds, an intricate but smaller pearly contraption of exquisite beauty.

“Let me?”

How can she refuse him? Daenerys nods, intrigued, and then watches as Jorah kneels in front of her, like the Knight she always imagines him to be. With one look, he has her lift one of her feet, enough so that he can slip the pearls around one ankle and then the other, his hands then lifting the unusual body bracelet up her legs, his fingers caressing her thighs trough the pearls, making sure the beads roll on her skin, caressing it too. She sees Jorah’s reflection in the mirrors as he gets to his feet once more, so tall before her, his hands making the new rows of pearls glide over her naked buttocks and sending delicious shivers all the way up her spine until a sigh escapes her lips. Jorah kisses her then, his tongue brushing her full lips while his fingers adjust the pearls adorning her secret folds. She understands then. This “bracelet” is meant for her hips and Venus mound, like a chastity belt but with a much, much different function. She already feels the pearls that have slipped next to her own arouse her and, when Jorah swivels her once more to face the mirrors, she sees how the nacreous layout frames her silver curls over the beauty of her rosy flesh. She blushes then…

“Jorah…”

“I couldn’t resist, Daenerys. Will you indulge me?” He is blushing too, and how she loves him for it! “If it isn’t to your liking, or pleasurable…”

Daenerys slowly hushes Jorah by turning her head towards him. She kisses his lips tenderly, before turning once more to the mirror, and taking his hand to her sex, watches it slip through her secret folds. Jorah exhales on Daenerys’ skin, his face next to hers, his eyes seeing through the mirror his fingers glide over the dual rows of pearls lovingly ensconcing the most precious of all jewels. He swallows hard when his fingers discover the honeyed dew already mingling from one pearl to the other, and he can’t help but whisper Daenerys’s name hoarsely, closing his eyes, his features flustered. Daenerys turns around then to kiss Jorah’s bashfulness. Feathery kisses to go along with the delicate caresses she has him apply to her pearl. They sigh together lost in the moment, as the rain continues to tap on the window and Satie’s music permeates the room. Soon, the sound of her slickness joins in and Daenerys purrs at the feel of her honey coating both her fingers and Jorah’s. She abandons her lover’s hand then and raises her fingers to his mouth. Jorah’s nostrils flare as he accepts the delicacy, sucking tenderly on her fingers but never breaking his sweet ministrations down below. When Jorah is done, Daenerys claims his mouth once more, tasting herself on his lips and both her hands slip into the ginger curls at the nape of his neck to hold on to him while she rocks her body gently into the hand teasing her folds. She stands on tiptoe and sighs, throwing her head back, making Jorah swoop down to kiss the curve of her swan’s neck. He could be a sculptor then, kissing the marble beauty come alive in his studio. It’s what he sees in the mirrors before closing his eyes on their embrace.

Swooning, one of Daenerys’ hands comes to rest over Jorah’s heart. It’s beating hard, in contrasts to the softness of their kiss, making her smile on his lips, which she comes to claim again. Her passionate bear is still there, in this room with her, but kept at bay, and taking pleasure, like her, in the slowing down of their touching. How light his hands feel on her skin and how cool the necklace swooshing between them, down her soft belly and his muscular abdomen. By now, usually, their embrace would be exuding passion and greedy need, and so Daenerys marvels at the delicacy of their restraint, inspired surely by the sensuality of Satie’s music and the rain tinkling on the window pane. Yet she longs to feel the whole of Jorah’s body and so her fingernails grate their way over his skin as she pushes both her bejeweled breasts and sex on him, to jolt him out of his carnal reverie. Jorah’s breath catches instantly, and his manhood surges forward on her belly.

Oh! how terribly constricted it feels to her, this hungry cock which he’s managed to keep away, trapped underneath the damp fabric of those skin-tight long underwear. “Poor bear,” she sighs, kissing Jorah… Indeed, her golden bear should be freed, shouldn’t he?

Daenerys breaks the kiss and pulls away from Jorah’s touch, not minding his whimper as he sees her retreat. She smiles at how forlorn he looks suddenly, and raising one hand to press on his lips, keeping him at bay, she invites his stare to follow hers as she trails down his body to take in the sight of his thick manhood crouched and pressed along his Apollo belt by the garment rendered somewhat transparent by the rain water. Really, not much is left to the imagination and she hears Jorah growl softly when she parts her lips to wet them. Their eyes lock again, and she sees Jorah’s chest heave with desire and pride, silently calling her to him. She wants him and he knows it. She glides then towards him, her gorgeous bear, and she smiles into his eyes when she lets her hand cup the tightness of his sac while the other squeezes his shaft, moving along its impressive length until one of her fingernails can trace the swell of the crown over the fabric hugging him tightly. Jorah doesn’t move and he sustains Daenerys’ glance, but a low rumble escapes his chest.

“Daenerys…”

“I know my darling… Are you aching very much?”

Breathing hard through his nose, Jorah takes Daenerys’ hands away, and keeps them in his as he bends down to her mouth:

“Oh, you don’t know how much.” His lips are right next to hers, poised for a kiss.

“Well then, shouldn’t we do something about it?” Her violet eyes dare him.

“Mmmmm assuredly, but… we need to attend the _soirée_, don’t we?” he whispers, taking her lips to soften the blow. Yet, his dragon love doesn’t balk at the suggestion as he was sure she would. Rather, she narrows her eyes and snakes her arms once more around his neck, whispering too: “These pearls are meant as sweet torture, aren’t they? I’m supposed to wear them under my evening gown, the friction against my own pearl making me ache for you… Oh, I’m willing to play, my darling Jorah.” Daenerys smiles internally seeing the effect of her words on her _fiancé_ who swallows hard, his look becoming less flustered and more feral by the second. “…I’m willing to let the pearls roll off mine, making me throb longingly, and getting me so very wet, waiting for your cock…”

Daenerys’ ploy is a resounding success because that last word hasn’t left her mouth that she feels Jorah pushing her down, her beautiful sliver mane flying through the air as if in slow motion, just as thunder erupts outside and a lightning bolt flares through the darkening sky, making her cry out. Yet her landing on the plush ottoman is soft, and Jorah smiles into her eyes when he whispers over her: “Oh luv, you will indeed wait for me, but I’ve never said I’d have to wait for you.”

In the position Jorah is pinning her down, with her hands behind her back intertwined in his, to raise her mound to him, and his broad shoulders pushing her thighs apart, Daenerys knows her bejeweled sex is completely exposed, and she closes her eyes, waiting breathlessly for what is sure to come next. Jorah’s voice. The deep chocolatey velvet of it whispering: “Luv, how beautiful…” before the full swipe of his tongue claims the slickness of her swollen lips framed by the glistening pearls.

Desperate whimpers escape Daenerys’ lips then and she cannot stop the shaking of her thighs when Jorah begins his worship in earnest, his licking and kissing mingling with growls of pure blissful contentment as he knows her pleasure has nowhere to go but his mouth. Daenerys is so swiftly aroused she cannot stop herself from rolling her hips and thrusting forward but Jorah hushes her down sensually with whispers and soft kisses, inciting her body to sway once more to the quiet rhythm of the piano notes enveloping them. The slowing down makes her feel everything in a new light, her senses inhabiting the moment, making her feel the full blossoming of the pleasure Jorah is bestowing on her. And so it is that the slow deliberate twirling of her bear’s tongue over her unhooded pearl, its tip pushing the necklace’s beads over her sensitive knob, his lips sucking at the honey coating the jewels and her flesh, the coarseness of his beard teasing her inner thighs, every detail of this exquisite ravishment makes her crest closer and closer to her release… until she hears herself plead Jorah to stop!

She can barely believe her own ears but indeed that is what she asks of him, whimpering, yet unable to stop her body from rocking towards his lips.

“Maybe… maybe we should both wait, my love. You’re right, won’t it be better still?”

Jorah’s shocked expression would be comical if it weren’t for the profound love she sees in the tumultuous blue depth of his eyes. He releases her hands and she brings them up to cradle his face, inviting his lips to her and licking the honey she gifted his mouth and beard.

“Then we should stop?” How pained his voice is, her poor bear. She nods her acquiescence, yet she tugs on him, bringing the whole of her Jorah’s tall frame on her _petite_ form. Their bodies intertwine then, not heeding to their words, and Daenerys cannot stop the jolting of her soft belly when she feels Jorah’s cock come pressing down on her secret lips. Breathing hard, both of them, they try to wind down and respect the rules they’ve now agreed upon, but Daenerys’ hands tug on Jorah’s underpants, enough so to at least free the beast from the still-damp garment holding it prisoner. Jorah’s moan then sounds so deliciously obscene next to her ear that she hears herself whisper his name with abandon, her hand groping the velvety length of him while she feels Jorah get rid of the clinging underwear. Breathing in sharply, Jorah pulls back though, sitting on his heels in a crouching position, Daenerys’ open legs over his thighs, his eyes seeing the reflection of his cock, multiplied around them, and so erect, before Daenerys’ hand comes to claim it again, caressing its length into submission. She raises herself on one arm until she can unwrap a string of her pearl necklace to lasso it slowly around the base of his rock-hard manhood, feeling it twitch in answer. Jorah is utterly aroused and totally confused, and he can only look to Daenerys for guidance.

“Jorah Mormont, if I’m to wear your gift this evening, to suffer deliciously, I believe that you should be made to suffer now.” How regal and breathy her whisper is, and Jorah can’t help but thrust into her caress. They look at one another and Daenerys almost comes from seeing Jorah’s chest heave with desire, his breath coming in short, his eyes falling once more to his cock pulsating between her fingers… and suddenly he knows what to do, he knows how to play this non-sensical, delicious game, like Russian roulette for lovers, playing with fire, skirting release but keeping it at bay. He unwraps Daenerys from around his girth and keeping her hand in his own, swings it behind her back, to make her glide towards him: “Yes, we’ll wait…” he whispers hoarsely, “after this…”

He grabs his shaft then and scoops Daenerys forward, lifting her slightly to better impale her, her folds so welcoming, her moan of acquiescence even more so.

How wondrous then, Daenerys’ surrendering to his claiming her, a look of agonizing rapture transfiguring her luminous features. She is so beautiful, and so warm and tight around him, Jorah has to grind his teeth to keep himself from coming as he takes her, and she takes him, ever so slowly. He whispers Daenerys’ name and she opens her eyes, the love there so abundantly clear he can’t breathe until she looks down, with him, at their joining, Jorah’s thick cock pushing in between layers of pearls; and Daenerys’ opalescence spilling over the nacreous beads adorning their flesh. _Oh, weren’t they supposed to wait?_ Now it’s Daenerys’ turn to be confused and looking to Jorah for guidance.

“Just a few strokes, luv…”

Daenerys moans deeply on these words, and even more so when she sees Jorah’s hands pull her hips to him, possessively: “… To remember the feel of me, inside you, during dinner!”

She whimpers again, watching him take her, his beautiful cock thrusting deeper and deeper. Then she closes her eyes, the pleasure cresting, and she can’t help pleading for him not to stop. It arouses him and moves him, so he abides, her name on his lips.

Their desire is overwhelming and yet they move so slowly, it’s maddening. But Daenerys is willing to flirt with danger like Jorah: yes, just a few strokes, on her bear’s sexy whispers and in time to the music, straddling him now. It makes Jorah harder still when he sees her take him herself, and steal a few glances at their reflection, knowing she takes pleasure in seeing his hardness fill her through all these mirrors. She lets him deep, reaching that special place, while she caresses herself through the layers of pearls. He swears under his breath and Daenerys’ eyes come back to him. She loves hearing him lose control, and she calls to Jorah as she slides down, still so slowly, so deliberately, rocking her mound to his sac, the feel of it so tight next to the slickness of her swollen lips. The feeling is so good, the rapture is within reach. Yet…

“Don’t let me come, Jorah.”

_Oh! what folly is this?_

But Jorah obeys and, taking Daenerys’ hands away from her pearl, he pulls on her to fully cradle her in his arms, before pushing her down softly on the ottoman. “I won’t, luv…” he whispers adoringly, while freeing his cock from the loop of her necklace… “But I won’t let you go.” Daenerys is panting and moaning his name and so he raises one of her legs, searching her eyes, and when he hears her pleading for him, he rolls his hips into her, his length and his girth relishing the freedom of movement, and he, the slick music their bodies make while his love moans his name again, her own body reaching up for his.

Just then, Satie’s music begins to skip and jump, the same notes on the vinyl starting over, in time to Jorah’s thrusts and Daenerys’ cries. It’s like an alarm, a warning, but Jorah doesn’t heed it. He locks eyes with Daenerys, and he knows he won’t stop. She so clearly wants to come, and he so wants to see her soar!

But…

_“Master Mormont?”_

That voice! Alfred! And the music stops with a screech.

Jorah and Daenerys freeze, and look at each other, bewildered, though Jorah instinctively shields Daenerys’ body in case the intruder should step into their dressing room. But Alfred doesn’t. Clearing his throat from afar, he calls out, once more, adding that he’s come to let him know diner will be served shortly.

“Very well!” Jorah’s voice breaks answering back. He pains to find his countenance, his arms shaking as they hold him up from the ottoman, and his manhood aching from the abruptness of the interruption while Daenerys can’t help whimpering, trying to catch her breath from under him. Yet a smile forms on her lips and one of her hands goes to caress Jorah’s face and beard, to stop him from glowering. He kisses her palm then before calling out again. “We’ll be down shortly!”

They both hear the door to the suite close after Alfred, and Jorah sighs painfully, kissing Daenerys’ lips as he retreats from her folds: “I’m sorry luv.” She moans his departure but kisses him again, managing a playful smile.

“Well, my darling, it appears you’ll have to thank Alfred for keeping the game afoot.” Jorah grunts and she laughs softly. “Poor bear. Now help me dress?”

***

Jorah is standing in front of the tall French doors leading unto the esplanade of Wayne Manor. His hands in his pockets, he’s lost in reflection in the relative darkness of the reception hall.

There was a sudden power outage in the middle of cocktails and though the darkness offered him the most exquisite excuse to kiss Daenerys, she had looked upon Alfred and the rest of the staff with pity and, in the absence of their host, had sprung into action, offering to help with their contingency plan. Nothing daunted her and he had to smile seeing his Queen take control of the situation. Yes, a Queen! She was totally in her element giving orders with elegance and grace, and deciding on a course of action that felt like suggestions to those under her supervision. The look in Alfred ‘s eyes clearly told Jorah he taught Daenerys was the 8th Wonder of the World. Of course, he thought so too, but something like a little pang of regret and insecurity tugged at his heart.

Daenerys belonged here, in this manor, or another one just like it. And though Jorah knew they had something good together, and their enterprise was certainly flourishing, he had to wonder if what he had to offer wasn’t somewhat beneath her. He would have continued torturing himself like this if an intruder hadn’t interrupted his train of thought.

“Ah! Thank God you’re here! Shouldn’t you speak to our guests?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh!” The young man facing Jorah looks at him like he can’t quite believe his eyes and he stammers the rest of his apology: “I’m sorry, I thought you were… Wait! You must be the cousin, Jorah Mormont. Yes?”

“I’m afraid I’m still not following…”

“Of course, where are my manners?” and offering Jorah his hand to shake, “I’m Dick Grayson, ward to Bruce Wayne? For a second there, the… the moonlight played tricks on me and…. Gosh, you really do look like him.”

From the darkness nearby, someone interjects: “Jorah?”

The two men turn towards the gracile voice and both of them are struck by the vision of Daenerys, lighting her way and herself with an ornate silver candelabra, her grey chiffon dress swooshing about. She is the Woman in White, the Lady of the Manor, the Silver Queen, both men running out of epithets, looking at how mesmerizing she is with her long hair swooped up and long skirt billowing about her shapely legs peeping through hidden slits, the upper half of her dress consisting of two vertical silk ribbons covering most but not all of her breasts, and rows and rows of pearls protecting her like an armor. But an armor leaving little to the imagination. Jorah smiles, breathing in her apparition, his throat constricting with pride and love, while Grayson just looks on, dumbstruck. Responding to Daenerys’ amused glance, Jorah comes to her rescue, taking the candelabra from her hands and setting it down on a marble table nearby. She then snuggles next to him and turns towards their young host, Jorah effecting the introductions.

Young Grayson clears his voice then: “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know what’s keeping Bruce… And, Ms. Targaryen, I don’t know what to say, you’re going out of your way, to help, like this…”

“Nonsense, I’m enjoying it!”

Amused, Jorah interjects: “I can vouch for that. She can be quite the little general…”

“Ah! Jorah Mormont!”

Not breaking his stride: “And I am not complaining. No one is, at the office. And we would be quite lost without you. Our stockholders thank me, every day.”

To which, Daenerys retorts: “And so has Mister Alfred, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes, I saw that. I believe he’d propose if I wasn’t around.”

Grayson blushes a bit seeing the amorous banter between his two guests: they are so clearly in love. And he feels _de trop_, all of a sudden.

“Well, I should see to the rest of the “contingency plan.” Please do not bother yourself further Ms. Targaryen…”

“Daenerys, please.”

“D-Daenerys… and I do hope no one else confuses you with Bruce, Mr. Mormont.”

Daenerys double-takes, smiling: “What’s this?”

“Apparently, I… I look like Bruce.”

Daenerys could swear Jorah looks embarrassed but is distracted from her train of thought by Dick Grayson offering her his hand.

“It’s true actually. They do look a-like. Can I show you?”

Intrigued, Daenerys accepts the invitation and lets herself be guided away. Sighing, Jorah picks up the candelabra and follows suit, a witness to young Grayson’s fawning over Daenerys whom, in turn, seems completely oblivious to the undercurrents at work here. _Gods, why didn’t they stay in their suite?_

Daenerys gasps when she looks up at the painting Grayson illuminates with his cellphone, before Jorah joins them. The resemblance is uncanny. Gazing at this artist’s rendition of Bruce Wayne is liking seeing Jorah in 15 years’ time. A clean-shaven, shorter-haired, silver bear version of her love. And that’s exactly what Jorah understands her to think when she turns her violet eyes to him, widen in wonder.

Grayson interjects then, proud of the effect of his demonstration: “I know, right?... Oh! Excuse me…” His cell phone vibrates in his hand and he walks a few feet away to take the call, Bruce Wayne’s name having popped up on his screen.

“Goodness, he could be your brother.”

“You think so?”

“And he’s very handsome.”

“Daenerys…”

“What? You look alike.”

“Well, I don’t see it.”

Daenerys cocks her head at Jorah then, half irritated, half-amused at his clear show of bad faith. And she’d remark on it but for Grayson’s return.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to, hum, well, get on with the show as they say. Bruce won’t be able to make it at all. He’s been detained.”

For some reason, that suits Jorah just fine. But Daenerys is genuinely concerned.

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

“No, hum, Ms. Selina Kyle, a… an associate…. A little mishap befell her and well, Bruce was the only one who could help.”

“How chivalrous of him.”

_Right. Perfect. She’s knighting him now,_ glowers Jorah.

“Yes! Yes, Bruce is indeed a Knight of sorts. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Daenerys’ admiring smile wavers somewhat when she turns to Jorah. She’s never seen him look jealous but _that_, that expression on his face, clearly, would be what he’d look like if he ever did feel insecure enough to fall prey to that sentiment.

“Oh, my darling, come here…”

Daenerys tugs on Jorah’s hand and pulls him to her as she reclines on the wall near Bruce Wayne’s portrait, which hangs over a display of obsidian bats made of rare stone. With the fingers of her free hand, she extinguishes the flames of the candelabra’s candles, one by one, in a very matter-of-fact way, while trying to reason with her bear.

“Ms. Selina Kyle. What do you make of that?”

“You heard the kid. An associate in trouble.”

“Jorah. My love. As we speak, Ms. Selina Kyle has her legs wrapped around your cousin and is hopefully as aroused as I am. Come here.”

The last of the candle extinguished, Daenerys pulls Jorah to her by the lapels of his suit and kisses him deeply. A move which has her bear change gears from sulky to passionate in half a second, much to Daenerys’ delight as she finds herself purring under Jorah’s expert caresses. His hand easily finds its way through the hidden openings of her chiffon skirt to tease her pearl, zeroing in, without guidance, on its slippery hardness amidst its nacreous sisters. And, oh! how _that_ takes some of the ache away in a delicious fashion! For both of them.

Daenerys might be in control most of the time but there are moments when she’d willingly relinquish her dominion, and this is one of them. She’d let Jorah take her, right here, if he dared… and it feels like he’s about to when he breaks the kiss to lower his head to her breast, easily freeing it from under the necklace and the silk partially covering her bosom to capture the berry he craves for. Daenerys closes her eyes then and whimpers, not seeing Jorah steal a victorious glance up at Bruce Wayne’s portrait. He growls then and she almost cries out when she feels the hardness of his cock through his pants replace his fingers on the slickness of her mound. He’ll maculate the crotch of his slacks if he keeps this up!... But he won’t have to, because, suddenly, the lights are turned back on and, thank goodness, they were making out in a deserted part of the manor.

Both panting, they look at one another, dismay painted all over their features. _Clearly, they won’t survive this weekend_. And, once more, it is Daenerys’ smile which disarms the situation, and her loving bear: “Are you hungry?”

Smiling a bit sarcastically, Jorah just nods at Daenerys and, kissing her fingers, he pulls her forward to lead them toward the other guests. She laughs out loud then and lets herself be whisked away. But not without a parting glance towards that portrait of Bruce Wayne. Hum, they _do_ look alike. And won’t her bear still be a fine specimen of a man down the road.

***

Jorah and Daenerys are sitting across from each other at the dining table. It’s a chic affair; they could be in Downton Abbey. Though Jorah couldn’t care less about pomp and circumstances, his manners are irreproachable and come naturally to him, but it strikes him anew how his love shines like no other in these surroundings. Surely, she was royalty in another life.

A light smile illuminates Jorah’s features as he imagines Daenerys in full regalia and daydreams himself to be…the Queen’s advisor? Her General? Mmmm, maybe. No! Her secret consort and the captain of her Queen’s Guard! She turns to him then, cocking her head slightly and batting her beautiful lashes. She’s silently asking him what his gazing at her like this is all about, but he only smiles, shaking his head, and so she raises her glass to him, and he does the same, putting his lips to the crystal instead of her hand. They’ve been flirting like this all through dinner and they both can’t help share a sigh when servants approach the table to change courses again. _How many of these will they have to sit through?_

Jorah sees Daenerys open her small purse then and, after a few seconds of busying herself, asking one of the manservants to approach. Waiting until he’s bent down towards her, she whispers in his ear and slips him something Jorah can’t quite see. And so, he’s intrigued when the man slowly comes to his side to hand him a folded note. Glancing up towards Daenerys, Jorah opens it and then, reading it, suppresses a smile: “Desert is ready.” He raises his eyes again and sees Daenerys bite her bottom lip coquettishly before silently whispering “Can we go? Please?”

Smiling openly, Jorah seems to heed to his love’s wishes, shifting in his chair to get up, when a stately matron next to him puts her hand on his arm and, exclaiming, starts up a conversation he feels obligated to engage in. Which he does, after a parting glance towards Daenerys. She, in turn, glowers a bit in his direction, until she decides on another course of action. She starts to toy with her pearl necklace, playing with its length between her fingers, to catch Jorah’s attention. And when he does throw her side glances, she makes sure he sees her sway in her seat. It’s very subtle. Nothing the other guests could notice, but Jorah knows. Daenerys is pleasuring herself right at the table and she’s doing it to provoke him. Playfully, of course. Yet it does fluster him, but he doesn’t know how to interrupt his elderly neighbor without seeming impossibly rude. He manages to throw a little glare towards Daenerys, but she just lifts her glass of wine and smiles at him behind her sip.

Just then, Dick Grayson approaches the table and sits down next to Daenerys, slightly out of breath. She turns to him, after a parting glance to Jorah, and stops her swaying. Her cheeks are flustered though and young master Grayson notices.

“Is everything alright?”

“I… I was going to ask you the same question.”

“Yes. Yes, I think so. Though I really don’t think we’ll see Bruce tonight.”

“On account of Ms. Kyle?”

“Yes, it’s… complicated.”

“Oh, possibly less so than you think.”

Grayson double takes on Daenerys’ remark and accompanying smile, but she doesn’t add anything. Instead, she just looks at the young man, endearingly nervous, and tries to calm him.

“It’ll be fine, Richard. May I call you that? You’re doing fine. Everyone is enjoying themselves.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Eat now, it’s getting cold.”

Which he does, following her orders without even noticing his own compliancy. Daenerys smiles on him again. He’s just like a puppy…

_He’s just like a goddamn puppy!_ Jorah can’t help thinking, slightly annoyed, as he notices how the young man cannot help looking longingly at Daenerys. Including when someone asks her for the salt, and her gracious arm movement reveals the lovely side swell of her breast. The young man actually freezes with his fork halfway up to his mouth catching a glimpse of _that_ delicacy. Jorah rolls his eyes then and for the up-tenth time asks himself _why_ he ever agreed to this weekend. Yet, he still manages to sustain the conversation he’s trapped into, his neighbor being the chatty type. Daenerys catches his eyes again but, a servant diverting his attention, he fails to seize the overture and so Daenerys turns once more to Bruce’s ward, lavishing on him her most gracious smile. Returning his freed gaze to Daenerys, Jorah sees her laugh softly at something Grayson says, and he curses himself.

_What is he doing on this side of the table when she is all the way over there?_

_What is she doing next to Grayson when she should be in his arms?_

_And what are they doing in this dining room when he should be carrying her to that canopy bed, to worship her and make her cry out his name until dawn?_

Jorah is sitting there transfixed when the _coup de grâce_ comes in the form of a single pearl which Daenerys slips between her lips, absentmindedly, while playing with her necklace. She is once more listening intently to her young host or pretending to. Though he, certainly, only has eyes for her, and that pearl between her lips. Which was meant for _him_, Jorah.

The next second, a small commotion erupts on Jorah’s side of the table. Someone has slipped and spilled wine on him. Though, if truth be told, the servant never saw it coming as it was really Jorah who staged the mishap. Nonetheless, wine is spilled, and Jorah gets to his feet, brushing aside helping hands trying to sponge him dry. Witnessing this charade of a spectacle, Daenerys suppress a smile before excusing herself from the table, and from Dick, to quickly rejoin Jorah. 

As soon as she finds herself next to her handsome but frazzled bear, she locks eyes with him, smiling, and then takes him by the hand to whisk him away. No words are exchanged, no parting glance towards the other guests, it’s all they can do to keep themselves from running. When they veer a far corner though and they find themselves nearer to their wing of the manor, Jorah stops Daenerys and takes her in his arms, his embrace finding them crashing unto the wall.

“It’s too far!”

“Jorah!” Daenerys laughs, though she can’t find her breath from all that pent-up desire.

“Oh no, I’ve left Jorah at that godsforsaken _soirée_! Jorah isn’t here, luv, there’s only the bear. And he wants his maiden fair!”

_The bear, huh,_ she thinks with a smile. _We’ll see about that._ Daenerys slips her hand down Jorah’s chest, over his belt to cup his straining cock through his fine wool slacks. “My bear,” she sighs, tracing the prominent crown with the tip of her index finger, hearing his breath catch, “I’ve forgotten how good you feel inside me. Help me remember?”

Jorah knows it’s a game, her sultry gaze, her alluring touch say her memories of their abbreviated coupling are perfectly intact. He easily finds his way through the folds of her dress and between her thighs, so slick with need, it coats the backs of his fingers. He hums his satisfaction, “This bear must have his honey first.”

One swirling tease of his fingers, her shaky gasp, then she’s grabbing his wrist and dragging him through the nearest door. It’s their lucky night, the room one of the manor’s large guest bedchambers. Or is it? The furniture is too luxurious, the long curtains made of a rich, dark fabric very unlike the ones in their suite. But then she spies something that gives away their location, a statue on a low table by the leather armchair: an obsidian bat. Daenerys smiles to herself, _so my bear will claim me in Bruce’s private lair._ From the light spilling in through the floor to ceiling windows, Daenerys finds the light switch, but his hand stops her from flipping it. “I want to see you bared to me in the moonlight.”

She doesn’t even register that there’s a lull in the storm, the clouds having split apart to bath the bed with its celestial illumination. The ambiance is perfect, the sheets falling over the king-sized mattress like spilt black ink. She lets go of his wrist and turns, one delicate eyebrow arched as she lifts her hands and undoes the ties at each shoulder, the dress pooling at her feet in a susurrus of silk. A wild noise rumbles in her bear's chest, his eyes nearly predatory in its movement over her curves. He already knew she was wearing only the delicate lingerie, but to see her in all her glory, backlit by the silvery moon, is truly a sight to behold. Then her tresses are tumbling like a wave down her back, completing the goddess image. She moves to take the pearls from around her neck, but his voice stops her.

“Leave them, love,” he growls, “I want to look up from between your thighs and see them draped over your trembling body.”

Her core throbs, Jorah every bit his namesake tonight. She loves when he's like this, a secret part of her desires this wildness, this primal lust with him. And it is all the more fitting that it happens in the bedroom of the man that Jorah considers a possible rival for her affections. No man could ever hold a candle to what she feels for him. Backing slowly to the bed, she trails her fingers down her sides to the lacy band of the lingerie, her thumbs hooking underneath to remove it.

“Don’t, love.”

She smiles and reclines regally on the mattress, waiting for the tidal wave of his passion. And she doesn’t have to wait long. Jorah closes the distance between them, yanking off his jacket before making quick work of his tie, shirt, and belt. He moves to his trousers, but...

“No, don’t take them off. Just undo the button.”

He smiles devilishly, his queen in fine form. She intends to torture him a bit, not allowing him to set his manhood free from the confines of his trousers. But he realizes he probably deserves this, she has been on the knife’s edge of release all evening, it’s only fair. He does as she asks, then drops to his knees. He spreads her legs with the gentle insistence of his palms, staring at the beauty of the white pearls nestled between her engorged lips. She’s so aroused they are nearly engulfed, no wonder every little movement she made teased her, the strings practically dripping with her nectar. He takes them between his fingers and draws them gently over her clit, watching her writhe, listening to her beg for him to make her come. All evening Jorah had imagined this moment, but it is infinitely better than anything he had envisioned in his mind. He decides to tease her a bit more, watching the sweetness ooze from her entrance with each pulse of her sex. “These pearls are the perfect setting for your little jewel, love.”

She loves when he talks like this, sexy, erotic and yet so romantic. Jorah understands what she needs to feel good, what her body and mind need to forget everything except him, except them, physically expressing their devotion to each other. The slick string slips over her swollen clit again, his eyes trained on her face, enjoying the subtle changes in her expression with each back and forth movement. She’s panting now, her voice desperately pleading, “Please, my bear, I can’t wait anymore.”

He relents, easing the pearls to the side, “Watch me, love.”

Jorah knows Daenerys finds this extremely erotic, how it centers her in the moment, makes her conscious of every little flick and swirl of his tongue, the sight reinforcing the tingling sensations buffeting her body. She lifts herself on her arms, watching as he licks and sucks the strings clean, her eyes fevered at the naughty display. Then his mouth is on her, his tongue quick and hard against her clit. She grips his hair, her other arm barely supporting her under the pleasurable assault. He slips two fingers in, crooks them just so, her hips pressing into the short thrusts against that special place inside. It gives her the friction she needs, her pleasure intensifying. It doesn't take long before her body’s trembling, legs shaking. Her orgasm crests, her head tipping back at the blissful sensations coursing through her. The echo of her throaty moan reverberates against the exposed beams of the ceiling, no doubt anyone else staying in the nearby rooms would hear her. But she doesn’t seem to care and neither does Jorah, in fact, he feels a slight bit of masculine pride at her very obvious enjoyment of his ability. She slumps back to the bed as Jorah stands, his beard glistening with the evidence of her orgasm. "I need you, Daenerys," he purrs, beginning to undo his trousers.

“Wait, Jorah,” she pants, sitting up, her hands stilling his. “Reach inside and free him, but don’t remove your clothes.”

He smirks, they had made love this way many times before, the urgency for one another superseding the necessity to take any more time to undress. He does as ordered, watching her nostrils flare, her plump bottom lip tucking between her teeth. The tightness of his boxer briefs supports his cock in a way reminiscent of her hand wrapped around his girth, the pulsing veins along the shaft more prominent too. With eyes fixed on his cock, she lays back, observing how he takes himself in a firm grip and guides the head to her entrance. She’s so ready to be one with him, but he appears to want to tease her again. As he brushes her wetness over her sensitized clit, his gaze lifts to her face, watching her, hearing her mewls at the little pulses of pleasure that spark in her sex, then he's thrusting in, just the crown, savoring the residual throbs of her orgasm. It's like a switch flips in him, his hips snapping forward, burying himself deep. The sensation pulls the air from his lungs, the gentle rippling along his length a miracle of their love and desire. Her back arches as he sets a hard, fast pace, his hands grasping her hips to lift her from the bed, pulling her onto his cock. Daenerys can’t take her eyes off of Jorah, mesmerized by his tall, broad form, the muscles in his arms and chest tensed and flexing beneath his skin, the sound of their joining anointing the air with its ancient primal drum beat. Their own mating ritual, blessed by their profound emotional connection.

He's watching his thickness split her honeyed lips and it arouses her even more, knowing he sees as she can the faint rise of her abdomen with each thrust, reaching his limit within her, filling her completely.

“Gods, Daenerys,” he breathes, “I—”

Words fail him, so she looks down and can only nod at first, moaning, her voice secondary to her need for air. Then she finds it, “Don’t stop, my bear. It feels so good!”

A deep, animalistic sound rises in his chest, and instinctively, her body responds, pulsing softly around his girth. Never before has a man elicited a yearning in her to be claimed, not in possession, but in the sense of _I am his and he is mine_, body, heart, and soul. One being, complete with the other. Jorah. Her one and only. Until their last breaths.

The strings of pearls add a new dimension for them both, the silky slide almost like a second set of lips, each thrust jostling them against her already throbbing clit, slickening her even more. She never wants this passion to end, but she can feel another orgasm beginning to coil tightly once more. There is something she desires from her bear, “Come for me, Jorah. Here,” she begs, arching, showing him where on her belly, “I need to feel it on my skin.”

He growls at her request, remembering that afternoon on their island vacation, the very first time she asked it of him. He thrusts a few more times, then lowers her hips to the bed, withdraws, and looking down to find her gaze lowered too, he grasps his slick length in his hand. Two quick, masterful, full-length jerks and he's spending himself on her belly in thick bursts, moaning her name. She gasps at the liquid heat painting her, the droplets like a long line of beautiful shiny pearls on her alabaster flesh. As if reading her mind, Jorah’s hand is already between her legs, his thumb working against her, sending her over the edge. Her body trembles, her moans soft and short, her eyelids half-closed at the intensity.

Daenerys collapses, panting, Jorah's breathing in synchronicity with hers. She stretches, the pearls between her legs shifting against her clit, making her gasp and throb with a residual aftershock of pleasure. Blinking lazily, Daenerys takes in the lean strength of her bear still standing before her, his cock shiny in the moonlight with her arousal, a growing pearlescent bead ready to drop from the tip. She reaches down and collects it with a delicate swipe of her finger before bringing it to her mouth and savoring his pleasingly masculine essence. _Jorah gifted me two sets of pearls tonight_, she thinks, _how can I possibly choose my favorite?_

“Daenerys,” he whispers huskily, his eyes focused on her full lips still enclosing the digit. She knows how Jorah feels about her tasting him, about taking him into her mouth and pleasuring him that way. But she also knows that Jorah understands that she does it of her own desire and love for him, of her need to see this normally composed man undone and a bit out of control by something she has done. “Wait right there, love.”

Jorah disappears into the darkened room, a sound of body meeting table then _bloody hells_. Daenerys can't suppress the giggle at Jorah stubbing his toe, “Are you all right, my bear?”

All she hears is a grumbled _yes_ before the light in the ensuite flips on, the sound of running water filling the air. Jorah returns a moment later and switches on the bedside lamp, muted warm light illuminating him. He's carrying two cloths and he sits down beside her, a soft smile on his face as he gently cleans himself from her belly, the warmth lovely against her skin. With the second one, he dries her off, then sets them both aside, but stops halfway, noticing the framed old family photo on the nightstand. He turns back, his eyes wide, “Daenerys, this is Bruce’s room!”

“Oh? Is it?” She smiles and he knows it all too well. Daenerys realizes now that Jorah was far too distracted by her to notice the little details she had picked up on.

A slow smile curls his lips. It’s nearly smug. “Well, had I known…”

“Yes?”

“I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

Daenerys grins, Jorah was indeed worried that she was truly interested in Bruce, but now he seems cured of his unfounded concern. _My silly, loveable bear_, she thinks.

“Perhaps we should return to our suite?”

“My Jorah,” she sighs, “Need I remind you that Bruce will likely not be returning this evening. Ms. Kyle is undoubtedly keeping him _very_ busy.”

“You’re probably right,” he acquiesces, reaching over to gather her into his arms. It takes a bit of doing removing his remaining clothing and Daenerys' pearl necklace and lingerie, but soon they are cocooned beneath the silk sheet. She snuggles closer, his fingers carding through her hair, drawing it back from her face so he can kiss her forehead and temple softly. She purrs in contentment, her bear back to his usual cuddly tenderness. She loves this about him too, that he can be ravenous for her one moment, then be so sweet and gentle later.

“Rest a while, then we’ll return to our suite,” Jorah says after a time, just as her eyelids begin to droop with drowsiness. “The night is young yet, love.”

She lifts her head, regarding him with a soft expression, “I know, my bear. I know you wish to kiss every inch of my body, slowly making your way down where you'll worship me with your mouth until I'm writhing in pleasure. Only then will you seek your own, making love to me slowly...tenderly...well until dawn.”

As she's talking, her fingers toy with the fur on his chest, his beautiful eyes gazing back at hers with such love, she feels that familiar rush of emotion in her chest that has never gone away in moments like these. “It is what you deserve, Daenerys. And what I will always give you.”

She rises on her elbow and kisses him, his hand cradling her jaw, his thumb brushing at the roundness of her cheek. When their lips part, their foreheads remain touching for several moments before she settles against him again. Jorah leisurely caresses her back while her fingertips do the same against his pectoral, both of them relaxing and enjoying the touches until they will gradually turn sensual, renewing their desire. And as she described, even the early morning light won’t stop Jorah from fulfilling his promise.

*** 

**Author's Note:**

> To the reader who stumbled upon our tale thinking it would actually star Bruce Wayne, we apologize for him remaining but a reference in our tale, but we felt we had to mention him in the characters as he does play an important role in the narrative even if he never makes an appearance.


End file.
